


Sweet

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2019 [21]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Whumptober Day 21: Laced Drinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 15:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: The drink is supposed to be tart, almost sour.If it's sweet, there's something wrong.





	Sweet

There’s something sweet in these drinks. Something that doesn’t belong. 

Noctis knows this because Ignis has mixed this drink before. It’s supposed to be tart, almost sour. Ingredients can be swapped, but the tartness should always come through. And Ignis has told him  _ if it’s sweet, something is wrong. _

Noctis isn’t stupid. He puts the drink down and walks away, quickly locating Prompto in the din. Already, his stomach is clenching, body breaking out in sweats.  _ Something does not belong.  _

He’d only agreed to come because it had seemed like fun, a Spirit’s Eve party with drinks and costumes and just some low-key fun. The worst thing he had expected was maybe beer pong. Maybe some sweaty guy or girl trying to hook up on him or Prompto. 

He hadn’t thought that someone would try to roofie his drink first thing in. 

“Prom, c’mon.”

“What--?” Shit. Prompto’s already showing signs. Yep, time to go. “Bu-but we just--jush tog hee?”

Time to call Ignis, or Gladio, or hell even fucking  _ Cor.  _ Anyone who can get to them before whatever was put in their drinks kicks in, and they wind up in someone’s bed, unconscious. Noctis knows the stories. He knows what happens. He’s not going to let himself or Prompto be a victim. 

His fingers shake as he dials the number outside, agonizingly slow. Puts the phone to his ear, and listens, praying Ignis isn’t in session. 

He isn’t.  _ “Hello?” _

“Something’s wrong,” Noctis slurs, and  _ fuck no, not now.  _ “Drink. Party. Prom ‘n me,  _ wrong.” _

_ “Shit. Where are you?” _

The world blurs when Noctis turns his head. The shadows seem to lengthen, dip and weave across the street sign. Noctis closes his eyes, and opens them again. It’s barely enough. “O-Openveil Way, h-h-hmm 223. H’rry, ‘nis.”

_ “Stay upright until I get there. Do  _ ** _not _ ** _ let anyone touch you!” _

“Hey, you cuties okay?”

_ Fuck. Fuck, don’t let them take us anywhere. C’mon Noctis, focus.  _ “Fine, fine. J’st fine. Go ‘way.”

Men. Women? Big, burly. Or maybe that’s just the drug. Prompto’s practically asleep at his side, drooling into his shoulder. Noctis forces himself to focus on that, focus on Prompto, and glares when the people - Gods there’s more than  _ one,  _ fuck - approach, evidently not driven away by Noctis’s slurred reassurances.

They could be good bystandards, worried. Or they could be part of the setup inside. It’s impossible to tell. Ignis needs to be here, or Gladio, or  _ anyone.  _ Even if his father passed by right now, Noctis would feel better. 

“I think you kids need to lay down. You don’t look so hot.” A hand, grasping his arm, lightly tugging him. No,  _ no,  _ Noctis digs his heels in.  _ Don’t go inside, stay out where Ignis can find you.  _

“Go ‘way,” Noctis says again, “Wai’ng fer ‘s’meone.”

“Yeah okay, you can wait inside. It’s not gonna kill you. You can use my bed, sleep it off. I’ll wake you when your ride gets here.” He tries to tug again, and Noctis snarls, bats his hand aside, forces his magic to rise through him like fire. He won’t manifest it, but the feeling helps clear his head a little. 

“I said  _ no,  _ now leave me--”

“Noctis!”

Oh thank the fucking  _ Six.  _ “Ignis.”

And it  _ is  _ Ignis, flanked by a furious, if wobbly-looking Gladio. Noctis buries his face in the man’s chest when he gets close enough, and yeah, he’d recognize this smell anywhere. 

“C’mon Princess,” Gladio murmurs, scooping him and Prompto up together. “Time for you kids to come home. I think you’ve had enough fun for one day.”

“Mmhm. Bed.”

“Bed, yeah. Scale of one to ten, how fucked up are you?”

“S’ttn’ ‘niiiiiii--” His balance abandons him in the car; he flops over without any grace, body too heavy to lift. He feels tired, but not sleepy. Each blink comes slower. He can faintly hear voices, and something is making the world rattle, but Noctis closes his eyes, and it all winks out.


End file.
